Tag Archives: English usage

The most unkindest cut

Shakespeare’s Marc Antony was onto something when he referred to Brutus’s stab at Julius Caesar as the “most unkindest cut of all” – something that this New York City barber seems determined to avoid:

Nice to know they're kind to senior citizens and kids.

Nice to know the barber is kind.

I wasn’t able to determine what the gray tape covered. Perhaps it was “except when we’re annoyed” or another disclaimer? And is that where the little red dots come from – scissor stabs? Regardless, I do prefer “kind cuts” from my salon, and I’m sure you do also. I am a bit upset by the lack of apostrophes, which create a warning that “senior citizens cut” and doesn’t explain whether old people with scissors make “kind” or cruel stabs and slashes. No guarantees after 65, I guess. At least when “kids haircut,” the only possible victim is a tress.

I can’t leave this sign without asking whether anyone knows what a “tape-up” is. Maybe something to do with the duct tape near the top of the sign? Nor have I a clue about the definition of “skin fade.” I’ve seen odd (to me) stubble-on-a-scalp looks, but wouldn’t those be “hair fades”? And does “shape up” command you to finally get serious about dieting and exercise? Theories welcome.

A lie by any other name . . .

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A recent reference to “false facts” in an article in my hometown paper, The New York Times, set me to thinking about the ways journalists talk about lies. Given the current presidential campaign, this is a hot topic. My first reaction to “false facts” was that the phrase is an oxymoron . . . a contradiction of itself. If something is false, it’s not a fact. If it’s a fact, it’s not false. Other popular ways to refer to lies are “misstatements,” “misunderstandings,” “exaggerations,” “stretches,” and “wrong impressions” (this last from the liar who says something like “I’m sorry if I gave the wrong impression” when caught).

Despite my reference to lies, I do know that a “false fact” may simply be a mistake, not an attempt to mislead. I am holding onto that belief with both hands lately, with flashbacks to the days when I hoped for, but did not expect, the Tooth Fairy to be real.

Yet how should the media characterize what Politifact (note the name) calls “pants on fire” assertions? One tactic is not to label something as true or false but instead to present information alongside contradictory claims. The problem, of course, is that this approach sometimes leads to the mere appearance of fairness and gives credence to the ridiculous, as in “a member of the Flat Earth Society countered NASA’s claims of that Earth is a spherical planet.”

Nor is the opposite approach perfect. If we rely on pundits to decide what’s factual or fanciful, we’d better make sure that we have great pundits. Extraordinarily wise pundits. Impeccable pundits! All of which are as abundant as unicorns. Complicating the problem, of course, is the fact (and I do assert it as a fact) that many people seek out an expert who will confirm what they already believe.

But this is a post about language, not politics. Back to “false facts”: I’d replace that term with “false information” or “false statements,” with accompanying proof. And if it’s intentional, I vote for “lie.” This political season, that may be the only choice I have.

Covering Up

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The site: an elegant building in midtown with a glassblock wall rising maybe thirty feet, topped by the usual brick construction for many, many feet beyond that. A small patch of greenery, waist-high. In the middle, this paper sign (slightly the worse for wear after a rainy afternoon):

Lean, yes. Sit, no

The applicable dictionary definition of “façade” is “the face of a building.” Unless you have Spider-Man’s powers, it’s hard to imagine that you can sit on a façade. You can, of course, lean against it, if (in this location) you don’t mind trampling some perfectly innocent ivy.

The second definition of “façade” is “an outward appearance that is maintained to conceal a less pleasant reality.” In a normal election year, I’d mention that politicians lean (as in “rely”) on facades all the time to conceal their “less than pleasant” plans or personality. This particular presidential campaign, though, gives me pause, and not just because I disagree with most policies of many candidates and some policies of all candidates. If this crew is leaning on a façade, it can only be to conceal a more pleasant reality.

With the possible exception of nudist camps, did you ever think you’d miss cover-ups? Campaign 2016 is indeed different.

Neither hair nor there

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Primates spend a lot of time tinkering with hair, and we homo sapiens are no exception. But I’m beginning to think that, when it comes to hair, “sapiens” (Latin for “sensible” or “wise”) should be changed to “stupidus.” The number of shops offering to change, remove, or add hair to some spot on the human body is impressive. The signs advertising such services – not so much.

What do you make of this sign?

Europeans aren’t human?

I get the distinction between “human” and “synthetic,” but somehow I always assumed that the category “human” included “European.” Silly me. And why mention “European” at all? Grown-in-America hair (or grown-anywhere-hair) isn’t good enough for this store’s customers? Then there’s “lace front.” Does the wig have a flapper-style band of lace at the front? Maybe the wig-wearer laces the wig to his or her front? If so, which part of the “front”? And how? Seriously, I’d like to know.

The previous sign isn’t clear, but the next probably means exactly what it says, a fact I do not find comforting.

All together now: head, hands, feet.

This store offers its customers a chance to have their hair blow-dried (and autographed, if you spend forty bucks on the “signature” service) while simultaneously receiving a manicure and a pedicure. Anyone who chooses all three services presumably sits like a starfish with team members stationed at all extremities (fingers, toes, scalp). New Yorkers are famously impatient, but if we’ve reached this point, “sapiens” does not apply.

Illegal Words

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The scene: I’m chopping turnips and listening to my local public radio station. The action: The announcer promises an extended report on “illegal spying” after the break. The reaction: I spend the next ten minutes wondering if “legal spying” exists. The consequences: I lose a thin slice of fingertip to inattention and have to rinse blood off the turnips. Denouement: I decide that “illegal spying” falls into the same category as “victorious traitor.” If you win, you control the language. That’s why no “traitor” ever gains power. A “traitor” who succeeds is a “rebel” or a “patriot” (see “American Revolution”). So James Bond isn’t engaging in “illegal spying” in the eyes of the British government. The nation spied upon, however, holds a different opinion. If James Bond gets caught, he goes to prison. Of course, James Bond never does get caught, not permanently anyway. Why ruin a franchise that reaps billions?

But I digress. This post isn’t about potboiler-blockbusters. It’s about legality and the words that describe it. Take a look at this sign:

P1010935 (3)

These words appear at a construction site, on the side of a shed that protects pedestrians from any falling debris. The ceiling of this shed is maybe twelve or fifteen feet high, level with the apartment windows on the second floor of the building. (How nice for the occupants! They can chat with construction workers over morning coffee.) Back to language: “burglary” is a legal term for breaking and entering a building in order to commit a crime. Okay, that word makes sense, because the shed could facilitate entry into those second-floor apartments. But “hold up”? This is an informal term for “mugging” or any robbery committed with a weapon. Technically, the same bad guys sneaking through a window could “hold-up” the occupants, but this action is already covered under “burglary.” So why use both terms?

I didn’t lose a fingertip to this one, but I did speculate all the way home. Did the sign-maker envision armed robbers atop the scaffolding, taking wallets and jewelry from residents strolling on top of the shed? For a block or two I decided that the protection was for pedestrians under the shed – a sort of “walk through here and you’ll be safe” notice. Then I realized that “pedestrians” aren’t “premises.” So that theory bit the dust. At the end of the walk, I decided that another definition of “hold-up” worked best: “delay.” This company promises that the building will be “electronically protected” against missing sheetrock, striking workers, and four-hour lunch breaks. Now that is something worth paying for.

Oops, I actually meant that!

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In the pre-Internet era, a student-researcher asked me whether New York City maintained “a government suppository of documents.” Yes, I thought, but not in the way you imagine. It’s easy to make fun of misused words, though I believe that kids’ errors should be out of bounds. So with a reasonably straight face, I explained to the young man that “depository” or “repository” would have been a better choice for that sentence.

Politicians and other public figures, however, are fair game when it comes to mockery. I’ve come to believe that when they stray from their speechwriters’ polished prose and venture to express themselves, they sometimes (gasp) reveal what they really think. Call it a Freudian slip, or, in print, a Freudian typo. To be clear, this phenomenon is nonpartisan. The more you talk, the more you slip, regardless of political affiliation.

First up is Sarah Palin’s endorsement of Donald Trump, as reported by my local paper, The New York Times. Referring to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, she declared that Americans are “paying for some of their squirmishes that have been going on for centuries.” Squirmishes is a nice blend of two other words. “Skirmish” refers to fights or battles, usually on a small scale and at irregular intervals. “Squirm,” on the other hand, is what you do when you wiggle or twist your body, often because you’re nervous. Was Palin nervous about the endorsement, conflicts in the Arab world, or something else?

Turning again to The New York Times, I found an odd statement from Abraham Foxman, former director of the Anti-Defamation League. In a lengthy article describing the often tense relationship between President Barack Obama and Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, Foxman was quoted as saying that Obama “bore his soul about how much he cares about Israel.” Three verbs are entwined: bare, bear, and bore. “Bare” is “disclose or uncover”; the past tense is “bared.” “Bear” is “endure, carry a burden.” The past-tense form is “bore.” And of course, “bore” also refers to what politicians do best: make their audiences desperate to change the subject. Now, my question:. Does Foxman think that Obama feels burdened by the US-Israeli relationship or tired of the whole issue?

I know what I think, but I’ll withhold the information to avoid getting into a squirmish.

Fatal Messages

Stock up now!

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Want to talk about today’s storm? That might be difficult. Wordsmiths are woefully unprepared for the hyperbole-shortage caused by Jonas. (By the way, since when do non-hurricanes get names?) A completely unscientific survey showed that New Yorkers heeded warnings about emergency preparedness – for some things. In my local grocery store, for example, one woman at the checkout bought maybe three dozen individual-serving pudding containers. If Jonas decimates the nation’s sugar supply, she’s ready.

The real shortage, I’ve concluded after listening to the radio, watching television, and reading news reports, is hyperbole. If you want an extreme term for today’s weather, dictionary shelves are nearly bare. Stocks of “snowmageddon” were the first to be depleted. Only a few “storm of the century” phrases are left, but, in a rare show of restraint, several barrels of “storm of the millennium” are still available.

On the adjective/adverb front, as you might expect, supplies of “extremely dangerous,” “gale-force,” “zero” (as in “zero chance,” “zero visibility,” etc.) and “whiteout” are running low. The number of cartons of “super” is declining, despite the unusually large supply ordered for a football game in early February. Just one box of “killer” is still available.

Trite comments, too, are fast running out. “Stay home” and “beware of slippery roads and sidewalks” are no longer available, but diligent shoppers may find one or two “bundle ups” and “baby it’s cold outside” at premium prices. Rumor has it that a few would-be wordsmiths turned to Canada for help, but the only available terms from the north were “a little weather” and just plain “snow.”

Moral of the story: Make like a boy scout. Be prepared. Stock up on hype now, before the next storm of the millennium hits.

You talking to me? at me? or with me?

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New Yorkers wait “on line” (when they’re not cutting ahead, which is impolite – and yes, lady at the supermarket yesterday, I’m talking to you). The rest of the US waits “in line” (most likely, more politely than New Yorkers). In the UK, something may be “different to” something else, but in the US it’s “different from.” In other words, prepositions – on, in, to, from, and many other relational words – slide all over the map. If you don’t know the customary regional preposition for a phrase, you can end up with a meaning you did not intend. And, I should point out, sometimes a preposition may lead to confusion everywhere.

Take this sign (please):

Note the flower and leaves in the background.

These words appear on (in?) the window of a dry cleaning shop. I’m betting that the sign is an attempt to say that your clothes won’t be shipped to another state but instead be cleaned and pressed right there. The sign should probably say “all work done in our plant” or “on the premises.” Instead, the sign implies that workers are fertilizing, watering, snipping dead leaves, and doing other routine chores “on our plant.” Right behind the sign, by the way, are two poinsettias. They look like they need some work.

Check out this one:

Business with?

This sign makes me picture a business meeting between an animated, talking, Disneyesque building and whoever uses this service entrance. After all, the sign specifies “approved business with this property.” Not with the owners, the residents, or the staff on or in or at this property. “With this property” has a nice ring to it, though, and raises a number of questions. Can a property negotiate business deals? Is this property, a large and elegant structure, harder to do business with than, say, a small brownstone or a five-storey tenement? Send your theories at me. Or to me. Maybe towards me.

Don’t Mess with a Grandma

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I more or less gave up on apostrophes a long time ago. There seems to be a cosmic jar filled with this punctuation mark, which writers shake over their texts, letting apostrophes fall willy-nilly into words. Thus I ignored this sign, which shoves an apostrophe into a plural, where it does not belong:

Tuesday’s. Sigh.

Some grammarians call this usage a “greengrocer’s apostrophe.” (Notice the correct use of the possessive apostrophe in the term, which names a punctuation error.) Why “greengrocer’s”? My opinion, based on no research whatsoever, is that people who use this term believe a shopkeeper (greengrocer) is more likely than a non-business owner to insert apostrophes into plurals. That belief doesn’t match my experience. If I stacked all the student essays, term papers, and other writing I graded and corrected during my teaching career, the top of the pile would be within spitting distance of the moon and maybe even topple over onto a moon rock or two. Nearly all of those writing efforts included a “greengrocer’s apostrophe,” and none of the students were grocers, though many were (environmentally) green.

Though I scarcely glance at extra apostrophes, I did stop short when I saw this sign:

Granny’s combative.

The color difference between the first and last pair of lines initially led me to believe that the tavernkeeper was making a statement about grandmothers and their alleged capacity to slug someone. But I’m a grandmother, and though sorely tempted at times, I have never punched anyone. Then I noticed that no punctuation appeared anywhere at all. Perhaps the sign is a statement about grannies’ tendency to wallop cocktails, I mused. (Sidepoint: There are hot cocktails? Who knew! ) The image of grandmothers bopping martinis, mimosas, and other drinks made me wonder whether a new temperance movement was brewing. I still don’t know what the sign means. Just to be safe, I have one piece of advice: Don’t mess with a grandma, especially when she’s drinking.

Grammarian in the City

Snarky remarks on language I see and hear in New York City

Tag Archives: English usage

The most unkindest cut

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Covering Up

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Illegal Words

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You talking to me? at me? or with me?

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Don’t Mess with a Grandma

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